


I Wish My Enemy A Placid Love

by DoreyG



Category: Welcome to the Punch (2013)
Genre: Bathroom conversations, Five Acts, Guilt, M/M, Mention of canon minor character death, Mention of canon physical injury, Post-Film, Shame, less than healthy relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 11:31:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/798256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoreyG/pseuds/DoreyG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Ugh,” the noise that he receives in response really can’t be put into words. It is half-screech, half-moan and all uncertain in a way so profound that it almost makes him doubt his own existence. The only response to it can be to blink again, and settle a little deeper into the crouch with the knowledge that such a noise heralds a long and puzzling wait “…We shouldn’t be doing this.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Wish My Enemy A Placid Love

The first time that they properly sleep with each other, in a bed with the doors locked and their clothes littered across the floor, Max sprawls for only a moment after the act is done and then rolls away so fast that it almost gives him whiplash. Hits the floor with a dull thump and crawls towards the bathroom at a speed that’d put a cheetah to shame.

He lies on his back for a stunned few seconds afterwards, his hand resting on his stomach and his eyes tracing slowly over the cracked ceiling.

He frowns, as slowly as possible with his fingernails starting to dig in just the slightest bit.

He blinks…

And then he clambers to his feet, at a far more reasonable speed. Pads nakedly to the bathroom with a certain hope that Max hasn’t managed to worm himself out of the small window and down to the hard street below, because losing such an unexpected prize just after gaining it would be _most_ unfortunate.

Max, thankfully, has done nothing of the sort. Max is, though, currently coiled besides the toilet with his head in his hands and his shoulders shaking.

He watches for a moment, carefully, and then takes one slow step forwards. Takes another step when Max only gives a soft whimper in reply. Is soon all the way across the room and crouching down besides him, hesitating for a long few seconds before slowly reaching out a hand and brushing it over the man’s ever so thick hair “…Hello?”

“Ugh,” the noise that he receives in response really can’t be put into words. It is half-screech, half-moan and all uncertain in a way so profound that it almost makes him doubt his own existence. The only response to it can be to blink again, and settle a little deeper into the crouch with the knowledge that such a noise heralds a long and puzzling wait “…We shouldn’t be doing this.”

…Or a short and puzzling wait. Either way.

“Sitting in a bathroom and having what could be tentatively termed as a collective mental breakdown?” He manages mildly, stroking Max’s hair again for the lack of anything better to do – it’s soft under his fingertips, just as thick as he secretly used to imagine on the nights when he was overtired and the lights danced temptingly above, “Or… Other things? You’re going to have to be more specific.”

“Well, the collective mental breakdown probably isn’t the best idea, but…” Max chokes, breathes through his nose, chokes again. He’s half considering a slap on the back when the man finally manages to gather his breath and forge boldly on, “we shouldn’t be doing _this_.”

Still a little worried, he allows his already reaching hand to continue stretching towards Max’s bare shoulder for a long few moments before answering “…I may need some more specifications, I’m afraid.”

“And I thought you were smart,” the choke is a little softer this time, but still far too clear – he hesitates for another long few seconds before touching Max’s shoulder, stroking it ever so gently, “we just _slept_ together, Sternwood. You and me. Five minutes ago. We’re still naked from it now, you’re crouching before me with hickeys all over your neck.”

…So that’s what’s stinging. He moves the hand on Max’s head briefly away to rub just under his jawline, quickly returns it at yet another shuddering breath, “I hate to remind you of this, especially at this difficult point, but we have had sex before.”

Another shaky breath, he flattens his hand into Max’s hair and keeps stroking as soothingly as he can.

“In the van, and against that wall just after I broke you out, and in the back of that car, and that one time when you just couldn’t wait to get out of the…”

“I remember,” Max says brusquely, and finally lifts his head with blue eyes shining. It really shouldn’t fix him to the spot, but that’s apparently inevitable now – every time he gets the slightest glimpse of Max’s eyes he feels like doing something far from sensible, and that’s something that he really should get used to, “but… Fuck, they weren’t like _this_. They didn’t involve condoms, they didn’t involve penetration, they didn’t involve the implication of a fucking _relationship_ in any shape or form.”

…He takes a break from his captivation by Max’s eyes to consider that.

Ah.

He carefully avoids Max’s eyes as best he can, while swiftly moving his hands to grab the man’s wrists and keep his face free for as long as possible, “I’m slightly worried about your definition of a relationship if you don’t consider some of the things that we’ve done to be signifiers of one.”

Max only glares at him, sullenly, “ _Sternwood_.”

“…But I do understand what you mean,” and he has to admit that, with Max glaring up at him and Max’s wrists bony in his grip and _Max_ so near that he’s pretty sure that any lesser man would be intoxicated, “I suppose, now that we’ve actually slept together like normal people generally do, that we could be considered to be dating.”

And… yes, oh yes, that’s the issue. Max freezes under him, then relaxes to something still, and then stiffens again when he slowly glances down. His expression is that of a rat caught in a cage, flitting between the extremes. He can’t work out what the man’s face is saying – there’s anger in there, yes, and some slight residual pain from the leg. But there’s also fear and confusion and a trembling fragment of hope and-

“…And is that so bad?” Comes out of his mouth before he can quite stop it, tugged viciously forth by the rough storm of emotion that seems to be working its way through Max beneath him, “us dating?”

“Sternwood-“

“I can think of far worse things in the world, I have to say.”

“…We’re bad people,” Max decides eventually, his mouth setting into a line. He still doesn’t seem quite sure about it, the storm fails to abate and grows simply more violent instead, “and we’re bad for each other. Neither of us have any business being in a relationship, us _dating_ is a recipe for disaster that doesn’t bear thinking about.”

He nods over these points, finds them true. Also finds, for the first time in twenty odd years and isn’t _that_ a shock, that he doesn’t quite care about the truth – would rather toss it to the side in an entirely irrational way, “Why would we be bad for each other? Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think that we’ve actually been rather good for each other over the past few months. You saved my life, I saved yours, you allowed me to avoid prison, I broke you out of it...”

“We ruined each other’s’ lives,” Max corrects him. Flatly. His mouth remaining in a line as he stares stubbornly up, “you _shot_ me in the leg and condemned me to aching pain and a general lack of running for the rest of my life.”

…That is a slightly better point. He can’t help a slight wince at it, a tighten of his fingers, “sorry-“

“And I forced you to leave the country and stay lost due to my unhealthy obsession,” Max only goes over him with a sigh, a slight quirk up of the line of his mouth – he looks a little resigned, the facts of their lives weighing them both down so surely that it’s a wonder they aren’t pinned to the bathroom floor, “healthy relationships are supposed to involve neither of those things, and that’s a fact.”

He considers for another long few seconds before he finally manages words. The facts still weigh him down, the guilt presses even harder “…I’d rather say normal relationships.”

“Healthy, normal,” Max arches an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitches yet again, “aren’t they the same things?”

“ _No_ -“

“Largely,” Max interrupts again, the quirk practically becoming a fact of his face – he considers kissing it to shut the man up, only narrowly restrains himself due to reasons of sanity, “for we are neither. _You_ dragged me into an absurd gangster situation involving the smuggling of guns and several severe breaches of the law.”

“That-“

“And I dragged you into an absurd corruption situation where the politicians were evil, my boss was evil, and most of my colleagues seemed to be ranging from mildly malicious to working for Satan,” he’s getting a little tired of not being able to talk. Max sighs softly over him, another thing that is becoming far too much of a habit – briefly jerks his wrist in his grip before realizing and reluctantly easing yet again, “again, not things that healthy relationships involve. _Or_ normal ones-“

“Would you let me speak?” He interrupts this time, charges on as Max is blinking – well aware that speed is apparently of the essence, “I don’t _want_ a normal relationship-“

“But you should want a healthy one” …Though speed apparently isn’t enough. The man darts in again, a certain determination rising in his eyes that he can already tell is going to be an annoyance, “one that doesn’t involve having to break your boyfriend out of prison before fleeing the country with him, never to return. Do you hear any celebrities with that story? Have you ever seen any of your friends in such a situation?”

“I have a wide circle of friends,” he protests stiffly, trying his very hardest not to break into a glare and ruin everything, “and you’re not listening, I _like_ being unique.”

“This isn’t unique, this is _insane_ ,” Max growls, not bothering to hold back his glare – he rises up slightly, muscles tensing and mouth resettling into an even firmer line, “I let you go, I let you take me, I let you lead us over several countries and a few continents besides, I let us both abandon everything that we’ve ever known for the sake only of each other. No celebrity, no friend, no stranger on the _street_ has that story – and that’s because it’s utter and complete _lunacy_ , and unhealthy, and abnormal.”

“Unique,” he says carefully, also trying his very hardest not to grit his teeth and bunch his fists and generally coil into a little ball of annoyance, “different, surprisingly smart considering the options open to us-“

“You ran away with the man who _killed_ your son!” Max yells, finally rising up fully to grab his shoulders and try to shake him and-

“I ran away with the man who saved my life!” He snarls back, finally losing his own temper, and pushes the man down – the world seems to still for a long moment. Everything is quiet, Max’s bright blue eyes glinting up at him, “and tried to save my son’s life, and tried to save so many lives even as he lost so much along the way. You are sensible, you are healthy, you are the most fascinating thing that I know and will probably ever know. You’re the only person in the world that could ever understand me.”

There’s a pause.

A moment.

A long second between breaths.

“…And the only person that I would ever want to understand me,” he looks away from Max’s face, for something else to do – comes to rest on a random patch of wall instead, studies the darkness of it carefully to avoid thinking about all the dark little spots that he doesn’t want to enter his mind, “in truth.”

There’s a long pause before Max answers – and when he does, finally, his voice is just slightly shaky, “it’s not sane.”

“Neither are we.”

“It’s not healthy.”

“It’s the healthiest option open to us.”

“It’s not normal.”

“Who wants normal?” And he finally glances back, finally stares at a point just above Max’s eyes and takes a deep breath in and steels himself and- “who _needs_ it? If we’re talking truthfully then the only thing that we really need is each other, and that’s a mutual abnormality that we might as well take advantage of for as long as possible.”

Max remains silent for a long few seconds. 

Quiet.

Almost…

“I need a shower too,” thoughtful. As he dislodges his hands, pushes him back and rises to his feet with another quirk that’s somewhere near a smile, “and a little less philosophizing, and then a nice warm bed. You’re welcome to join me for any of those things, if you’re done with babbling in a way that makes little to no sense.”

He remains crouching for a second, smiling ruefully.

…He rises slowly to his feet, with a soft chuckle, and follows Max as he always will. Not quite at the speed of a cheetah, for they’re not that much alike, but fast enough that it hardly makes a single bit of difference.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for linndechir in the Five Acts meme, which is fabulous and should be played in by everybody! This was meant to contain more sex, but instead ended up as a long conversation about relationships because apparently I CANNOT GET ENOUGH OF THESE GUYS AND THEIR DYSFUNCTIONAL LIFE (seriously, one day I'm going to write an epic fic about them and it'll probably take months and end up being roughly the length of Tolkein's pooled works. I have far too many feelings for these two, really).
> 
> Oh, and the title is a slightly altered quote from a Propertius poem. Purely because I'm revising him at the moment, and he really is awesome.


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